


Skimming the Surface

by themillersson



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Needles, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themillersson/pseuds/themillersson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt was almost positive that he was being an awful friend to Tina somehow, but there wasn't anything technically sexual about what Artie did to him and he preferred to think about it as little as possible, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skimming the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Never Been Kissed. Don't try this at home?

Kurt tried not to think about Tina. He was at least 99% sure that this violated the friendship code in some way – even though she had dumped Artie and had happily rebounded to Mike, the rule “thou shalt not covet thy friend’s boyfriend” seemed to apply even after the “boyfriend” label didn’t. What he and Artie were doing wasn’t technically sexual, though, so he clung desperately to that 1% chance he wasn’t being an awful friend. Guilt tended to ruin the mood.

Kurt breathed as shallowly as he could, trying not to let the inhalation move his ribcage any more than necessary. He couldn’t see Artie’s expression from where he was face-down on the bed, but he could hear the scowl in his voice when Artie chastised him, “Don’t move around.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, head turned to the side so that he wasn’t speaking into the mattress. He wanted to complain about the cheap terrycloth of the towels laying under him, but the last time he’d ‘whined’ (Artie’s word, not his) about the thread count and the chemicals in the cotton, Artie had gotten huffy and passive aggressive, and had insisted on re-doing the pattern three times before he was satisfied. It was the only time it had really hurt afterwards, and although Artie looked somewhat remorseful when he was cleaning Kurt up after he finished, neither of them had ever apologized.

Another sharp pinch came and Kurt made himself stay still. He could feel the needle sliding under his skin, slithering inside for an instant before the second pinch came as the tip poked out again and Artie pulled his hand away, leaving the needle in place. “That’s the first line,” Artie informed him in an absentminded murmur.

Kurt nodded despite the accustomed rush of endorphins and took a deep breath, feeling the needles (fifteen so far, in a line that curved from just under his shoulder down to the middle of his spine) pull slightly at his skin as the movement lifted and separated them. He shifted to get more comfortable and resisted the urge to press his hips against the mattress below him. His bare skin tingled under exposure to the air of the room and burned around the needles in a pattern he could almost distinguish. All he was wearing, as usual, was a pair of old boxer-briefs – Artie needed a the largest possible stretch of “canvas” to work, and although Kurt rarely bled more than a pair of pinpricks per needle, he didn’t like the idea of ruining something he actually cared about in case something did go wrong. Artie, of course, had looked insulted when he suggested the possibility, but he had held firm. If Artie thought there was enough of a chance of a mess to line the bed with towels, he had no right to complain when Kurt took similar precautions. At any rate, although he would never mention it to Artie, Kurt couldn’t resist taking advantage of the thinness of the material. There may not have been anything technically sexual going on, but Kurt had no control over the fact that every time a needle slid into him, his dick gave a helpless twitch, and every involuntary shift of his hips against the bed felt wonderful by the time Artie was halfway done, godawful terrycloth or none.

Artie made a thoughtful noise and traced his finger in a path down Kurt’s back, mirroring the line of needles he’d just placed. Kurt stilled and shivered when a cotton swab of rubbing alcohol followed, the evaporation chilling his skin. As far as he could tell, Artie didn’t exactly get off on it, but Kurt had a sneaking suspicion that the control and the artistry of it appealed to him on a level that went deeper than pure aesthetics. It sounded as if Tina had introduced Artie to the concept, at least peripherally, but Kurt was aware that he was the first person who had agreed to let Artie try it out (although Artie had confessed, once, after a very long, strangely draining session, that he’d tried it on his own legs a few times – there was something so deeply personal and possibly twisted about that sentiment that Kurt had simply nodded in response and let it lie). Despite the ostensibly non-sexual nature of it all, he still occasionally wondered why Artie had asked him – even if the only touching was brushes of fingers across his back, or shoulders, or the backs of his legs, or a hand laid flat on his back to steady him as another needle slid in, anything that involved Kurt laying mostly-naked on Artie’s bed couldn’t be one hundred percent heterosexual. Maybe it was just that he and Artie were used enough to the label of “freak” that doing something that was probably inherently freaky wasn’t as intimidating as most of the others would have found it.

It didn’t make enough of a difference that they needed to discuss it, though. If it weren’t for Tina, then Kurt might have brought it up in conversation, perhaps in the aftermath when Artie was carefully swabbing his back with disinfectant that stung and brought him back to Earth, strong hands curiously gentle against the tiny perforations. He wasn’t afraid of Artie’s reaction the way he would have feared any other guy’s; it wasn’t an issue of whether physical harm was possible so much as the fact that Artie and Kurt both knew what it was like to be targeted for being different, and even though Artie could be quite insensitive in Kurt’s opinion (see also: Tina), he was less likely to take it as a personal affront. Tina was still Kurt’s friend, though, so no matter what awkward overtones he was reading into the situation, he wasn’t about to press it. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t wear underwear that were sometimes so worn and clinging that they barely straddled the line of decency, but that was more for himself and out of curiosity to see what would happen than anything else.

Kurt turned his head to the other side so that Artie was in his line of sight, half-reclined on the bed beside him with a kit laid out neatly next to Kurt’s head, and saw that he had tossed the cotton swab into the waiting bowl of used ones and had picked up a pre-sterilized needle, grasping it by the rounded end. Most of the needles had a flat end, but today Kurt had glimpsed a number of new ones, with a loop instead of a flat piece of metal to grip. He had no idea where or how Artie had gotten his equipment, but he wasn’t about to complain, especially not when he was able to watch as Artie leaned over him so that he could grasp his skin with one gloved hand and slide the needle in with the other, the familiar pinch-slide-pinch sending a shiver down Kurt’s spine and a rush of dizziness to his head.

Kurt’s eyes glazed slightly as he watched Artie eye the placement of the needle critically before reaching for another and repeating the process, following an invisible pattern that Kurt could only guess at by the sting and pull on his back. Artie’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he worked, and Kurt lost himself in the slow rhythm of the sharp pinches traveling in a mirror pattern to the first line, the stings occasionally pausing in a moment of syncopation when Artie wasn’t pleased with the latest piercing and re-did it. Artie’s glasses sometimes flashed from the overhead light as he turned his head to reach for a new needle or a cotton ball to swab away a droplet of blood, and Kurt dazedly watched the wiry muscles in his arms flex with each deliberate movement, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and hideous sweater vest thankfully discarded somewhere.

He felt like he was floating, like when April had plied him with cheap booze, except a million times more pleasurable, and without the disorientation that had accompanied the lightheaded feeling then. Artie glanced at him and gave a small, smug smile as he seemed to notice, not bothering to inform him when the second line was in place, just looking thoughtfully at his back and sketching experimental patterns over his skin with practiced fingers. Kurt let himself drift, a shiver rippling along his back at the next cool touch of the rubbing alcohol, the next line of metal being slid under his skin, a whorl connecting to the converging lines above, which was mirrored, minutes or maybe hours later, across his spine. Artie worked tirelessly, seeming to slip into a trance himself, drawing out of it periodically just for long enough to frown critically at what he’d created so far.

“Good,” Kurt heard him say, after a small eternity. Kurt blinked and drew himself out of the fog he’d been drifting in. He still felt light and pleasantly disconnected, but he smiled at Artie, shivering at the touch of a cotton swab as it dabbed against a particular piercing. “Put your arms out to the side,” Artie instructed. There was nothing authoritarian about his tone, just that of an artist who expected his subject to comply. Kurt did, carefully avoiding knocking against the kit of needles and whatever else Artie had found. His breath was coming in shallow pants, and he had to bite back a whine when even the slightest shift in his weight rubbed his cock, full as it always was after this long, against the mattress and provided a slight teasing friction. Artie grinned at him, and Kurt flushed, trying to glare. Artie knew about his reaction to the process, although neither of them had ever acknowledged it. “I think you’ll like this,” Artie observed. “It’s more technically difficult, so you’ve got to hold still.”

Kurt failed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Even if he was in constant motion most days, when he was in Artie’s room, holding still for him came easily. He could relax his muscles and lie serene and immobile for as long as it took for Artie to be satisfied with the constellation of metal he’d created under his skin.

Artie shrugged, looking amused, and reached for the rubbing alcohol again, dabbing it along the back of Kurt’s upper arms. The needle he pulled out of his kit was another new one, almost like one of the normal ones Kurt periodically used when fixing an outfit or helping Mercedes with costumes, and Kurt lifted an eyebrow, watching with hazy curiosity as Artie followed it up by retrieving a length of delicate chain, barely thicker than thread. He only realized what Artie had planned when the needle, chain threaded into it, was sliding into his upper arm, the piercing brief and sharp, but with a long, drawn-out drag that sent shudders through his entire body as the fine strand pulled through, the length of it sliding beneath his skin except for a section left at the end. He hadn’t realized that all the air had shivered out of his body until Artie glanced down at him and amusedly told him, “Hey, remember to breathe, Kurt.”

Kurt blinked and then nodded, flushing. Artie didn’t make the next piercing until he had taken in a shaky breath, which was driven out of him with equal ease as the chain slithered through him, not pulling taut but leaving a length between the piercings to drape, instead. He was even more light-headed than before when Artie finished; the needle had only made five trips under his skin, but he was so hard that it ached and he swore the redirection of blood from his brain was going to make him pass out.

Artie chuckled at whatever expression he was making and the boneless way he had melted into the mattress despite the tension quivering down to his bones, and reached for a few shorter lengths of chain. Kurt couldn’t muster the energy to do more than observe and let him do whatever he wanted, which turned out to be linking the long ends of the chain through his arm to the needles in his back (the top and bottom ones of the first line, he thought, judging by the way they pulled and tugged in a way that was both agonizing and intoxicating). The shorter lengths of chain went from the loose-hanging drapes of the upper chain to attach to some of the intermediate piercings, and he absently recalled that Artie had been sketching a pattern with sweeping, curving parallel lines in the margins of his sheet music during one of Mr. Schue’s pep talks the day before. For some reason, the unexpectedly delicate nature of the flourishes (normally, Artie liked concrete, nearly industrial patterns that alternated spirals with hard angles), the intense look of concentration in Artie’s eyes, and the thought of the _planning_ that had gone into this sent a pulse of something through him. The dizzying, bone-deep need made Kurt almost ache between his legs, and he had to stifle a quiet whimper.

Artie paused in cleaning up Kurt’s arm and smirked, apparently having heard after all. Kurt felt himself flushing down to his bare collarbones, but Artie didn’t say anything, just wiped the new needle down with a sanitizing swab and threaded it again.

By the time the process had been repeated on his other arm and the chains similarly hooked on, Artie having leaned over him carefully, so close that Kurt could feel his body heat radiating against his back, Kurt was panting softly, unable to control the tiny sounds that escaped him with each minute pull of the chains. Artie pushed himself back to where he’d been sitting and tilted his head to the side, surveying. “Good,” he said thoughtfully, sounding pleased with himself. “Yeah, that looks good.”

Kurt nodded, unable to come up with anything coherent to say. It was taking nearly all of his concentration to not just grind his hips against the bed and make himself come. He didn’t think it would take more than a few seconds of friction, humiliating as that was.

As always, though, Artie was reaching for his camera. It was an impermanent art form, he’d explained to a warily intrigued Kurt the first time, and although some preferred to treat it like a Sand-Mandala, he liked to have concrete evidence of what he’d created and know what he’d already done so that he wouldn’t accidentally repeat a pattern. Kurt did his best to look dignified with half his face pressed against the bed, even if Artie’s firm instructions not to move made it impossible for him to fix his hair like he wanted, and there were two flashes before Artie prodded him in the side. “Okay, I need you to stand up for the full effect. Come on, get off the bed.”

Kurt shot him a baleful glare and blushed harder, knowing that Artie knew exactly why he wouldn’t be enthusiastic about standing. Artie shrugged at him, though, looking more amused than impressed, so he gingerly pushed himself up, using his arms as little as possible so that the chains wouldn’t pull. He couldn’t stop a quiet groan as he sat up, his cock no longer pressed against the warm bed and losing any source of possible relief. He slid off the bed as quickly as possible, flushing with embarrassment and keeping his front turned away from the still-smirking Artie. “Where should I stand?” he asked over his shoulder, trying to keep the waver out of his voice and sound as uncaring as possible.

“Keep your arms up and out,” Artie chastised him immediately, and he rolled his eyes and lifted them again, allowing the chains to fall in soft drapes with a quiet metallic clinking. As he did so, Artie tapped a finger against his chin and looked around the room. “Over there, definitely,” he decided, pointing to indicate the closed door, one of the few surfaces not covered in some sort of nerdy poster or mobile.

Kurt obligingly followed his instructions, standing on trembling legs with his face to the door for a few pictures, twisting his torso slightly for the next, keeping his pelvis out of the camera’s view at all times. He knew that Artie would never let the pictures leak - he had as much to lose as Kurt if anyone came across them - but there were some things he didn’t want committed to film, ever.

When he was satisfied, Artie patted the towels beside him. “Come back here for a second.” When Kurt was kneeling on the bed (reluctantly, he would much rather have his knees to his chest or a different, more protective position), his back facing Artie, there were two more flashes as Artie clicked away. Kurt was still forcing himself not to squirm when suddenly Artie’s fingers were tweaking the two needles closest to each other on either side of his spine, making the chains they were attached to rattle and shiver, the vibrations traveling through to beneath his skin, and Kurt gasped sharply, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head with the rush of sensation and the accompanying clench in his stomach.

“Artie, what-“ he began to demand sharply, head spinning from the new pulse of arousal, but then there was a quick tug on one of the chains, and the intoxicatingly sudden pain ripped through him, from back to arm to every nerve in his body. He felt like his skin was on fire but he was shivering all the same and he vaguely heard Artie chuckle before a second light tug made his mind go blank. Every muscle in his body seized up and he heard himself make a thoroughly humiliating noise as he gave a full-body shudder and a liquid feeling of release overwhelmed him just as another flash went off.

The flashes continued as he slumped forward, barely catching himself with his hands due to the aftershocks rolling through his body, back heaving as he panted, each inhalation and exhalation tugging at the needles and nearly forcing him back into hardness, the stimulation even more raw and intense after his orgasm. The second he could control his muscles again, even though he was still panting from the little shocks of pleasure, he twisted over his shoulder to glare at Artie. Another flash made him blink, then scowl. “Artie, you… jerk!” he hissed (there was most definitely not a hint of a whimper in his voice).

Artie shrugged and snapped a last picture of his indignant, flushed face before hurriedly setting the camera down behind him, out of Kurt’s reach. “Hey, I didn’t actually do anything,” he said with faux-innocence, a shit-eating grin on his face. Hands now free, he used one gloved finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, completely nonchalant about the fact that he had just made one of his friends orgasm, quite possibly for his own amusement. Kurt scowled and reflected that it really was always the quiet, incurably geeky ones. Artie’s grin stayed, but his eyes were a little more serious as he ventured, “Hey. We’re still cool, though. Right?”

Kurt glared at him for a second more, his chest heaving, before he found himself sighing and rolling his eyes. He shrugged, the chains rustling against each other with a soft silvery sound. “Fine. I suppose we are.” He couldn’t make the fire-engine red blush go away, so he just turned up his nose like it wasn’t there as he straightened up again and stiffly informed Artie, “You had better have a clean pair of boxers I can put on before you take the needles out, though. And if you try to give me ones with superheroes or any video game images, I’m going to shove them down your throat.”

\--

By the time Kurt had finished changing into the pair of (plain black) boxers Artie provided, Artie had packed away most of his supplies and was lounging on the bed with a look of long-suffering patience.

“How long does it take you to change into boxers?” Artie asked in disbelief when Kurt opened the bathroom door, accompanied by a shivering rustle of the chains looped down his arms and back.

Kurt wrinkled his nose in disdain even though his knees were still unsteady. “Longer than usual, when I don’t have a full range of movement,” he answered archly. He moved an arm just enough to allow the chains to clink together again for emphasis.

Artie shrugged and appeared to concede the point. Kurt crossed the room and carefully maneuvered himself back onto the bed, laying face-down once again on the towels with as little jostling of the needles as possible. He didn’t like to admit it, but he looked forward to this part almost as much as the piercing process. It wasn’t as – as _visceral,_ maybe, but it was a bit like coming back to Earth from wherever the piercing itself had sent him. The mattress dipped as Artie pulled himself closer, and Kurt could see him carefully arranging a bowl, cotton swabs, and the bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the corner of his eye.

Artie reached out, and the lengths of chain tugged briefly at Kurt’s skin as they were quickly unhooked from the drapes and the needles, one undone connection at a time, and they made liquid sounds as they pooled into little piles beside the bowl. Aside from the tiny jarring movements when Artie nimbly undid the hooks or whatever was linking things together, there was no sensation except for the shifting of the mattress with Artie’s movements and the soft brush of his breath on Kurt’s back when he leaned in to get a closer look.

The needles on his back were next, and this part was far more familiar. Kurt almost turned to look at Artie, meet his eyes and smile carefully, but he kept his face pressed against the towels and closed his eyes instead, focusing all his attention on the twitch of a needle under his skin as Artie grasped the first one. Artie’s hands were sure and gentle as he deftly pulled that and then the rest out one by one, delicately grasping each by the flattened end and sliding it out, the strange smooth glide immediately followed by a press of cold that twinged even after Artie let up the pressure and pulled away the soaked cotton. It didn’t sting the same way as the needles had going in; this was duller, less electrifying, and as it continued, the needles being removed in reverse order to how they’d gone in, Kurt could feel himself becoming grounded in the pain again rather than slipping away. Artie stopped periodically to toss his cotton swabs into the trashcan or dab at a place where a needle mark had started to bleed slightly. Kurt could feel the goosebumps rippling across his skin as Artie carefully swiped a fresh cotton swab over the first line to be completely removed and tried not to fixate on the brush of warm latex-gloved knuckles against the small of his back (firm and sudden and oddly-textured against skin so sensitive he could feel the heat before the touch) as Artie moved on to the next curling line of the pattern. The sensation was thankfully more soothing than arousing; the thin cotton of Artie’s borrowed boxers allowed the rough terrycloth to rub against Kurt’s front in a way that was unpleasant enough now that he had been left sensitive by climax, but he suspected would be unbearable if he got turned on again.

The tiny pull-glides continued, and Kurt kept breathing steadily, trying not to shift and interrupt Artie’s concentration – as they’d learned on a particularly squirmy day, moving while a needle was being slid out led to bleeding and to soreness that was incredibly difficult to explain the next day. Eventually, though, all the needles had been removed and were resting in a pile at the bottom of the bowl. Kurt sighed, happy to finally be able to take a deep breath without worrying about the movement making his back sting.

“I’m almost done,” Artie informed him, tapping on his arm. The warning was unnecessary but Kurt didn’t bother to open his eyes so that he could shoot Artie a properly disdainful look. He could feel the fine chains still looped under his skin perfectly fine without the reminder, but the sentiment behind it was nice, even if the cheerful follow-up of, “Fair warning, nothing I read described how this would feel, so it might kind of suck,” made him finally open his eyes so that he could glare up at Artie.

Artie raised his eyebrows and shrugged unapologetically in response. The humor in his expression became muted, though, and he slipped back into deliberate concentration as he carefully took hold of the closest chain, gripping the loose end in one hand and the drape in the other. The pull was strange, slithering and juddering through Kurt’s nerves, amplified more than when it had gone in due to the absence of other sensations to distract from it. Kurt felt his brow furrowing and buried his face back into the mattress, not wanting Artie to see his wince.

Artie waited until it had been pulled completely through the first piercing to ask, “Hey. Can you handle it?”

When Kurt reluctantly looked back up, Artie was looking uncomfortable, so he rolled his eyes extravagantly and huffed, “Of course I can. You saw me handling it when it went in,” Artie grinned and Kurt refused to give him the satisfaction of changing his word choice, “didn’t you? Now hurry up, I need to be home sometime in the next couple of years. Dad will be annoyed if I miss my own graduation.”

Artie rolled his eyes and tried to mimic Kurt’s own bitchface, but Kurt felt rather smug when it fell short. The feeling of warm satisfaction kept him from wincing when Artie reached for the next length of chain, although he did have to close his eyes and concentrate on keeping his breathing even as the odd pull came again. The movement was smoother than before, though, and the sting wasn’t so bad, even though it lasted longer each time. By the time the chains had been removed from both arms, Artie having made him turn around to give him access to the far one, Kurt’s upper arms were both stinging, and he could see Artie frowning in his peripheral vision as he swabbed at the pricks of blood.

Artie pulled back after dropping the last cotton swab into the waiting bowl, propping himself up with a hand on the bedspread behind him and wiping the back of the other wrist over his forehead. He laughed and let out an exaggerated sigh, as if he was exhausted. Kurt didn’t exactly smile at him as he carefully flexed his arms, then brought them up so he could push himself up slightly on his elbows. The movement pulled at the needle marks littering his back and arms, but it was a familiar sensation and he didn’t do more than wince. He took a few deep breaths, feeling oddly light and free without the bits of metal under and over his skin.

“You still feeling okay?” Artie asked conscientiously.

Kurt nodded, taking stock of himself. After a second of silence, he confirmed, “Yes.” He wrinkled his nose and shifted to get more comfortable. “I’m going to need a shower as soon as I get home, though.” The brief wash-up and change of boxers had helped, but he still felt slightly gross. Thinking about the reason almost made him want to bury his face in his hands, but that would require acknowledging it.

Artie appeared to guess the reason anyway, though, and grinned. “You could totally shower here, you know.”

Kurt rolled onto his side, propping himself up with his arms enough to give Artie the sharply incredulous look that deserved. Artie was still grinning. “This whole thing is so weird,” Kurt pointed out blankly instead of responding.

Artie shrugged. “ _We’re_ kind of weird, in case you hadn’t noticed. I figure it comes with the territory.”

Kurt stared at him a little longer, trying to pretend that he wasn’t considering it. The piercing marks made his back sing with barely-there pain due to the way he was twisted, his legs still felt shaky, and getting his skinny jeans on over Artie’s boxers was going to be a chore, not to mention the ordeal that would be getting home in his current state. But this was Artie – his straight glee-mate, his friend (who just made him come), and, most importantly, his friend Tina’s ex. Kurt had never been good at reading Artie, but he didn’t even try to analyze the simple, pleasant smile on his face now.

“Next week, at the same time?” he sighed, pushing himself up so that he could slide off the bed properly.

Artie tilted his head to the side and looked thoughtful at the refusal, but he nodded anyway and reached over to a nearby chair for Kurt’s clothes to hand them to him.

Kurt had to slide an old undershirt on beneath his shirt to keep the last bits of blood from getting onto his clothes, and he glared pointedly at Artie when the skinny jeans proved problematic, but, Artie’s all-too-innocent grin aside, it didn’t feel any different from the end of a normal session.

Kurt heaved an internal sigh as he waved at Artie and left. He felt like a bit of a bad friend to Tina, but as long as the sexual aspect was limited and one-sided, there was still a chance he was within the bounds of the friendship code. He was pretty sure it didn’t explicitly cover this sort of thing, anyway.


End file.
